On writing a poem
A poem that rhymed perfectly.
The words around me float,
Or they sit together imperfectly.
I try grabbing them one by one,
Arrange them in a way that makes sense.
When I think the battle is almost won,
I realize what I’ve made up is utter nonsense.
It is there almost in my hand,
And I don’t want to let it slip.
But it is falling from my fingers like the sand,
All set to go on a trip.
When I find words that rhyme,
The lines don’t have a meaning.
I take a break and give it some time,
May be it is my mind that needs some cleaning.
I sit down to give it another try,
I pick up words and put them together.
For the fear that they’ll otherwise die,
I touch them lightly like a feather.
And then when it is done,
I sit back to go through.
Though I was wary when I’d first begun,
I’ve now written a poem that is brand new!